Junk Food Addict - Diane Scantlebury

‘Mine’s a pint’
She’ll order it without thinking,
The irony is
She shouldn’t be drinking,
Later at the chippy
She’ll order a large fish
With extra-large fries,
Her belly’s grown bigger
And so have her eyes,
She’ll swear that chocolate bars
Have got smaller,
A sad downward trend of late,
Perhaps she’ll buy two
To compensate,

They’ll be stashed
In the top cupboard
With the other guilty treats,
The crisps, cakes, pop and biscuits,
The celebration sweets,
Emergency supplies to supplement
What she thinks is the meagre
Diet of a rabbit,
Cause she’s addicted to junk food
And can’t kick the habit,

She’s surrounded
By media pressure
To be fit, to be healthy,
But she can’t afford the fancy food
Of the privileged and wealthy,
When there’s a takeaway on every corner
Maximizing temptation,
Limiting her choices,
To a junk food addict these outlets
Have seductive, louder voices,

Just one more won’t hurt
She’s no longer thinking,
If there’s two for one she’ll grab it,
Cause she’s addicted to junk food
And can’t kick the habit.

Diane Scantlebury

Diet Chocolate - V. Bean

Monday morning, it’s chocolate time
mustn’t forget the washing, on the line
Monday lunchtime, chocolate again
just a few squares, well, make it ten
Tuesday morning, . . chocolate . .yes
Tuesday lunchtime fish, no chocolate
Wednesday comes, I’ll have some chocolate
Teatime now. .oh look, we’ve got chocolate
Wednesday night, I had a dream about, . . .chocolate
Thursday lunchtime, we ran out of food,
but luckily, we found some chocolate.
Friday morning, a mouse in the kitchen
the little bugger was eating our chocolate
Friday evening, we caught the mouse,
let’s eat the mouse that ate our chocolate.
Saturday, fell asleep, eating my chocolate
had to wash my clothes, the chocolate melted
Sunday morning, no chocolate, on a fast . .
Sunday lunchtime, fasted 3 hours, now, . .
chocolate, at last.

V. Bean

Scratch Card Heaven - Donald Keyman

Give us this day our daily bread
So that we can give it all to Super Fred
We'll take it wholemeal or unleavened, 'cos
We're living in a scratch card heaven

Take the widow's final mite
So that maybe the widow might
Win 5 grand or maybe 7, 'cos
She's living in a scratch card heaven

This then is the poverty trap
Why earn more just to pay it back
She needs some cash for baby Kevin
Born into a scratch card heaven

The cardboard carpet at her feet is
Made of hopes the gamble didn't meet
Some will win but she will never
Escape the hell of scratch card heaven

Her sad addiction is filling up the pot
There's 9 million reasons why it won't stop
A balanced budget is where we're heading
Using the manna from scratch card heaven

Donald Keyman

Beauty in Paradise - Diane Scantlebury

With head down
She trudges, duck footed,
Her limp, greasy hair
Viciously drawn back
Into a tight bun,
The pavement trembles
With her heavy foot fall,
Purposefully she strides on
With shoulders hunched
And head now drooping low,
Low as her self esteem,

Beneath the outward surliness
She is a pretty girl,
A beauty trapped in an ogre’s body,
She pretends to be impervious
To the abuse and insults,
The side glances and sniggers
Of ignorant, thoughtless passersby,
She throws up her shield
Of I don’t care nonchalance,
But the hurt breaks through her guard
And clings in painful barbs to her back,

Finally she reaches
The sanctuary of the corner shop
Where she can grab her fix,
Her daily comfort,
It’s only there among the crisps and chocolate
That her cherub cheeks flush,
And her small, tight lips smile
In ecstatic anticipation,
She is a beauty trapped
In a cycle of self destruction,
But for this brief moment
She’s in control and chooses to ignore it,
For when she gets her haul home
She knows she’ll be in paradise.

Diane Scantlebury

A Different Road - Chris Hudson

I work
It is a mind-dulling, monotonous process
Relaxation is guaranteed to purge all rebellious thought in hazy absurdity.
Television and alcohol subdue thought, reducing
The polarised participant into and incapable, emotional torpor
Drugs which increase and sharpen awareness are kept under lock and key
Their criminalisation reducing their quality and purity
Feeding the unscrupulous profiteering dealers
Lysergic acid and cannabis, not opium or heroin
Political stratagems, ancient and modern regimes
Profit for undercover agents and tax dodgers
In the free world captors and slave-drivers benefactor façade removed
Illusions abandoned, the universal dance of impermanence
Static power systems abandoned, minds freed
Turning to the light, the truth, the life, listening to within
Cease all violent striving and watch power systems crumble
Death-grip on the throat of humanity released at last
Laugh, turn away and real life
Way forward to peace, all feeling, all seeing
Freedom from within, conquest religion
Subverted into enslaving people, dividing them
Liberate the human spirit
Let the select masses pampered and preened to perpetuate
The rule of trained power systems, self-abasing slaves in ignorance
Absolute ego-addicts, manipulating sub-symbols
Elasticity, poverty, electricity of elitism.

Chris Hudson

Friend Addiction - Diane Scantlebury

I realise now
that you are
my addiction
I want to
snort you up
imbibe you
take you back
when I know you’re
no good for me
you are hazardous
to my health
yet I still ignore
the warnings on the pack

we have a fatal attraction
I cannot
put you down
I want to scroll
onto the next page
the one where
you’re not around
but I can’t
the return button
is jammed
and back you come again
I can’t shake you off
my delicious
toxic friend

Diane Scantlebury

Party Piece - Lyndon Queripel

I was feeling fine
Drinking my wine
When she asked me
“Now do you see
The glass half empty
Or half full ?”
I turned and sighed
Then smiling, replied
“I think I’ll pass,
Forget the glass
I’m more concerned,
I’ve learned,
With the bottle.”

Lyndon Queripel

Junque Maximus - Kathy Figueroa

There's a Higher Power
That's much greater than me
To which I now turn
And make this plea:
'Please give me the strength
To live clutter free'
Circumstance has been kind
Now, I have too much stuff
If I don't declutter
It's going to be rough
Deciding what to clear out
Will be really tough
But, I'll count my blessings
That I've got more than enough
Guess I'll get some boxes
And just sort ruthlessly
So my home and garage
Finally look orderly
And not like a dusty museum
Or 'Ripley's Believe It Or Not'
'Cause that's how much
Fine junque that I've got
Thrift shops are so tempting
Their allure is like a siren's call
Garage sales exert magnetism
I'm helpless to resist at all
And the auction is like Nirvana
For treasures, fine and rare
Though I have tried
I can't stay away from there
I must, must, must divest
I'll only keep some
And get rid of the rest
I'll employ visualization
To psychologically prepare myself
And imagine going
To the cupboard
And clearing a shelf
I'll dust and arrange
And then.. oh, no..
This ploy isn't working
That I can see
Because I just can't part with
Those fancy pots for tea
Maybe with the closet
I'll have better luck
It should be easy
To find something
To donate or chuck
Clothes two sizes too small
Are still folded with care
But..oh, no..
One day I might need
Something smaller to wear
Or maybe that apparel
Could just use a bit of alteration
So, for cleaning out the closet
I feel hesitation
Yes, it's a major challenge
I'll have to meet
If I want my house
To look spacious and neat
But, maybe, one day
That work will be done
I'll consider this poem
To be.. Step One

Kathy Figueroa

Hallucinated Reality 6:Creation Mists - Andrew Barham

Mourn, ye
For the warrior
Fallen in battle
For he
Will not be
Able to take
His rightful place
In the Dead Village;

I bear witness
To this fact
In my coat of many cultures
For the spider waits
Poised
Above her jewelled orb
Sparkling with countless droplets
Of mourning dew

Eight Creation Mists
In the foggy mourning
As Reality
Is Hallucinated
Into being
By
The momentary confusion
Of contorting strings
In the Spider's web:

The whole world above is my father!
As he emerges
From the Mourning Dew
With my blind brother
By his side
Breathing divine energy
Into the mother
Upon whom I stand;

To create the world
From a mote
Drawn
From the bottomless abyss
By a great white swan,
The theft
Of all Creation
Is the first and last contest
Between two
Hallucinating Realities …

Andrew Barham

This is part of a series of "Hallucinated Reality" poems in which the title is actually imbedded within the poem. Thus, these poems are titled, but the title does not appear at the top, but somewhere within the poem.

Hallucinated Reality 5 Home at Last - Andrew Barham

Finally …

I feel
At home
At last …

My little space
In my little place

Kitimat
My flat
Ain't no
Mon Desir!

It's a 2-bed
One-floor walk-up
In an apartment building
60's built and boxy
Set between
Two other buildings
Just like it
Surrounded
By large carparks
And a bit rundown
(There's a big hole in the carpet,
For example.)
But
In behind the carpark

The Wilderness
Beginning
The Great Bear Rainforest
To the West
Home of Kermode
Sacred
Spirit
Bear
(Though not found round here!
But occasionally seen
60 km North of here …)
A
White
Black
Bear …

A home is where you find it
And what you make
Of your own
Hallucinated Reality there:

The furniture from Guernsey
And elsewhere
Collected along the way,
Candlesticks and candelabra
I bought from Peter
Lord Saumerez
The antique
Coloured brandy and sherry glasses
Bought
From the Red Cross Charity Shop
Or
The Antique Fair
At the St Peter Park Hotel
Labelled beer glasses
From pubs
In London
Cornwall
Manchester
Guernsey
Whisky and Brandy glasses
From the Houmet Taverne
The Oak table
Chucked by the dumpster
At my Mum's Co-op
The bookshelves
Pulled form the decaying garage
On 12th Avenue
Point Grey
The canoe paddle
My brother gave me
On my birthday
So long ago
The tapestries and carpets
I acquired
In Strathcona –
Like the winerack –
Cast off and forgotten;
Even a handful
Of my books …

I feel
So
Comfortable
Home, At Last:

No one
Can touch me here
For I have found
Sanctuary …

Andrew Barham

This is part of a series of "Hallucinated Reality" poems in which the title is actually imbedded within the poem. Thus, these poems are titled, but the title does not appear at the top, but somewhere within the poem.

Hallucinated Reality 3 - Quantum States - Andrew Barham

The endless flux –
Dreaming Quantum States:
Countless points of light
Flickering in and out of existence
Particles darting about their orbitals
Seeming to be
Everywhere
At once
Scattering photons in every direction –
Unimagineable dimensions –
Particles flashing
Flickering momentarily into being
Intersecting
Colliding
Merging
Separating
Vanishing into the endless nothingness that gave them birth
Joining strings
Twining
Writhing
Now here
Now there
Convoluting into complex balls of energy
Giving birth to new universes
Of fluctuating Quantum States
Before fading away
Into emptiness;
The new iTunes visualiser
On my MacBook
The Hallucinated Reality
That is the basis
For all reality –
8 Creation Myths
Creating the world
From a grain of sand
Dredged up
From the bottomless abyss
By divers means …

Andrew Barham

This is part of a series of "Hallucinated Reality" poems in which the title is actually imbedded within the poem. Thus, these poems are titled, but the title does not appear at the top, but somewhere within the poem.

Hallucinated Reality 0: Departure Gate - Andrew Barham

Walking up to Chuet

For that penultimate morning swim
I finally realise
What the difference is
Between me and them –
Other teachers …

Crying everywhere I go
Walking through the corridors of Heathrow
To the Departure Gate …

Certain songs on my iPod …

African songs
Sitting on the dolmen
In my garden
Drinking red wine
Waiting for Shaun to arrive;
It's Spring,
My first
In Mon Desir …

How I love this place
And its people,
For the healing has begun –

My little cat …

Half wild when I first moved in
Shy
Slow to approach,
Bigfoot,

Because
He has extra claws
On his paws …

He comes round
From time to time
And nobody knows
Where he's from

He comes round
On my last day
While I'm frantically packing away
So I sit down
On the sacred ground
With him
Sobbing uncontrollably:
It's finally bursting out
All over me
The sadness
I've been holding in …

Listening to African songs
Sitting on the Dolmen
Drinking wine
While waiting for Shaun …

Listening to African songs
On the moving walkways
Through Heathrow
Heading for the Departure Gate
Wave after wave of sorrow
Breaking over me
As I try to hold it all in

Walking up to Chuet
For that penultimate morning swim
Trying not to cry
As a great wave of sorrow
Bursts out all over me
And I finally realise
The difference
Between Them and me:

I always worked with the kids
On their own terms
Within the limits of classroom management

Other teachers dictate the terms
Under which they will allow the kids
To work for them,
Fuelling their resentment
Against teachers
Forever …

No wonder
The other teachers
See me as a threat;
I represent
A loss of control
The antidote

To the Orwellian world
Of the classroom
The teaching community
Struggles perpetually
To perpetuate
It's their Hallucinated Reality.

Walking back from Chuet
To Heathrow's Departure Gate
I finally realise I'm saying goodbye
To Guernsey, my home …

Andrew Barham

This is part of a series of "Hallucinated Reality" poems in which the title is actually imbedded within the poem. Thus, these poems are titled, but the title does not appear at the top, but somewhere within the poem.

Hallucinated Realities 2: Voyage to Nowhere - Andrew Barham

One more Hallucinated Reality
On the road to somewhere
Away from here
As the kliks flick past –
Hope 64 km
Hope 56 km
Hope 42 km –

Around Chilliwack
The mountains start closing in …

Hope
at last …
Where we enter the Fraser Canyon
Hell's Gate
To the Interior
The first leg of the voyage
Behind me;

Gone
The endless stripmall
Of the Fraser Valley:
Car dealerships
Selling massive pick up trucks
And four-wheel drives
Giant Warehouse stores:
The Brick
IKEA
The Great Canadian Superstore
Cash and Carry
Office Depot
And worst-of-all Walmart
(K Mart and Canadian Tire
Once seemingly so vast
Now as dwarfed looking
As the local General Stores
They superceded not so long ago);

The modern suburban dweller –
Homo dysfunctionus –
Can no longer survive without
The accumulating relicts
Of last minute's essential fads
On his Voyage to Nowhere:

Everything is so vast these days!
The sheer scale of consumerism …

Inside the vaunting caverns of commercial enterprise
The choices seemingly endless
Every kind of ethnic cuisine catered to
Except mine …

"Where can I find the Brown Sauce?"
???
"Err …
"You do have Bovril?"
???
"Marmite! You must have Marmite!"


I haven't seen
Cinnamon Grahams
For decades …

"I need a replacement widget
"For the doodad
"I bought here
"A year ago?"

I'm sorry, sir.
We no longer carry that item
However,
I can sell you one
Just like it,
If you wish!

It has
A battery
Of new features
I hadn't realised
I'd wanted:

It can now do everything
I never wanted it to!

But the one I've got
And which does what I want
Is only a year old
And I've looked after it so well.
It only needs a new widget …

Outside my Mum's Coop
People throw away
The most amazing things;
You could open a business
Selling second-hand vacuum cleaners
Whose bags needed replacing,
Some of them
Less than a year old.

Our landfills are full
And the provincial government
Has forbidden us
To take our trash
Across the border

"We want to see
"A made in BC
"Solution."

We will exhaust the Earths' resources
Stripping the planet bare
To keep up with our Joneses

Humanity
A virus
Infecting the lovely Gaia –

Where are her antibodies?

Andrew Barham


Notes for non-Canadians and anyone unfamiliar with the argot of heroin addiction

1. Klik is Canadian slang for kilometre. 1 klik = 1 km.

2. Joneses has two reference points: Keeping up with the Joneses is a North American expression referring to those who tend to base their purchasing decisions upon what their neighbours already have. It was a common expression in North America from the 60s to at least the 80s. The baby boomers, who used to deride older generations for being guilty of this sin, have themselves become the worst offenders. A Jones is also old Vancouver Junkie slang for a heroin habit. It was a common expression in the 60s and 70s amongst the heroin addicts of Granville and Hastings Streets, as in "I've got a Jones". It likely derives from the 19th Century North American expression "yen" referring to an addict's craving for Opium, as in "I've got a yen; where can I score?". Of interest to those unfamiliar with the delights of opiate addiction, opiates cause constipation; hence their medicinal use to control diarrhoea. Opiate addicts of the 19th Century used to refer to the rather large and difficult bowel movements they had from time to time, as, "giving birth to a yenshee baby." In the early 19th Century, the British brought the benefits of opium addiction to China, and the Chinese repaid the compliment by bringing it to Britain's colonies on the West Coast of North America. Thus, Vancouver and Victoria became the twin centres for Opium distribution in North America.

3. This is part of a series of "Hallucinated Reality" poems in which the title is actually imbedded within the poem. Thus, these poems are titled, but the title does not appear at the top, but somewhere within the poem in bold text

Hallucinated Realities 1: Trapped Pigeon - Andrew Barham

The toxic fungus
Devouring
The heart of our soul;
Humanity,
A fading dream
Hallucinated realities –
Psychotropic distemper –
Wither goeth wir
Racing through the shadows
Of our lost world?

The grey gull alights:

Crows gathering …
A pigeon
Caught in a forgotten wire
Dependent
From the corrugated roof
Of a rusting shed;

The seagull …

How the twitchers twitch
And shudder
Whenever we
(In our ignorance)
Call them
"Seagulls" –

The great grey gull

With perpetually frowning eyes
Trying to catch
A stuck pigeon
While the crows watch
Waiting …

Every time
The upside-down pigeon tries to fly
Away
Held fast
By the wire
Snared round its leg

Accidental death
Incidental death

It matters not which
To the Trapped Pigeon
Or the other birds
Tempted by
An easy meal …

Andrew Barham

This is part of a series of "Hallucinated Reality" poems in which the title is actually imbedded within the poem. Thus, these poems are titled, but the title does not appear at the top, but somewhere within the poem.